


To Protect a Professor

by Whitescruffydog



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Downplayed Mutations, James Bond AU, M/M, Viper Verse AU, spy AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 20:22:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10704417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whitescruffydog/pseuds/Whitescruffydog
Summary: If you, in 1962, told Erik that one day he'd work for the CIA, he would have called you crazy.  He may have stabbed you.Now… no, he still finds the thought crazy, actually.But that is his life, and has been for decades.  Working in the dark, engaged in things a sane man would run away screaming from, all in the name of Never Again.And he's going to have to fight for it.





	To Protect a Professor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fought with publishing this one for a while because I hate portraying things unrealistically. Oh well. I'm sure you're aware that James Bond is a highly fictionalized account of espionage, so don't take anything seen here for more than entertainment.

** Thursday January 1st, 2015 **

He was never afraid of heights, he thought, as he felt the icy tendrils uncurl in his chest.

His fears were more philosophical, such as being victim to oppression again or losing those he loved. 

But, he supposed, barely clinging to the side of a building 36 stories up would do that to you. 

Erik was not a picky man. 

Any finicky tendencies were drilled out of him at that camp of horrors known as Auschwitz, and it was ultimately a useful trait for one who decided to dedicate his life to eliminating his mother’s murderer and all the Nazi bastards that stood in his way. 

He did a lot before his recruitment into the CIA and he did a lot afterwards.

He would murder, hunt, brutalize, stalk, spy, watch, observe, fight, and all sorts of other gritty dirty work, but he had one mission type that had him scowl far more than any other:

Protection mission.

So not only was he just barely magnetizing himself to the side of a gigantic steel building, he was just barely magnetizing himself to the side of a gigantic steel building with one arm while the other gripped the arm of a paraplegic professor he was tasked with protecting. 

He had very few options.  Climbing back up to the window they were thrown through would be nearly impossible with the deadweight—he was already feeling the white-hot strain through his body and his powers, plus the nasty spikes of glass digging through them, making already slick surfaces slicker.  Alternately, he could slide to the next story, but windows could be fairly difficult to break through, especially at this height and angle.  While repeatedly banging Charles against the window might lighten his mood, he doubted the professor would appreciate it, regardless of whether or not the plan worked. 

The situation was grim and the taste of failure always burned bitterly in his mouth, but he might just have to let this one go…

**_Four months prior…_ **

** Wednesday October 8th, 2014 **

It was a nice university, Erik reflected.

He had been to England before, of course, but not to appreciate the architecture.

Admittedly, it wasn't his goal now, either, but rather a consequence of observing for potential hiding places, escape routes, or critical points.

It was a large, complicated city.  Fantastic for tourists, terrible for a mission of his nature.

There was a genetics professor at this university with critical research regarding the existence and workings of a peculiar object known as the X-Gene. 

What intrigued many people about this gene is that it’s known to slow the aging process—which is why Erik, a man born in 1930, was still more than capable of performing the deeds he did.

This was not the extent of its power. 

Erik himself has dominion over magnetism—he could bend and control metal objects to his will.  He has used this for many purposes, Nazi hunting in his prime, a daredevil during the years _he didn’t talk about_ , to vengefully massacre his mother’s murderer, and most recently, whatever tasks the CIA wanted him to. 

This, too, was not the extent of its power.

His coworker, Emma, was a telepath. 

Emma cannot control metal, Erik cannot read minds.  Two completely different powers, one source. 

This is the core of the X-Gene.

This possible, limitless potential that has always baited humanity since the dark ages. 

However, a worker named Michelle Fortier who was stationed in London for intelligence found evidence that an attack on this man, presumably for this research, would be occurring. 

Hence Erik’s present situation.

His mission was twofold: obtain the professor’s research (through morally ambiguous means) and protect the professor from harm.

The first would be fairly easy.  The second would be considerably harder. 

Before anything, he needed to make a stop at his hotel.  His gait was fast but relaxed, suitcase (containing a disassembled sniper rifle) swinging lazily at his side.  He did not smile or make eye contact with the people around him, but it was unnecessary.  His suit told him he was an important man going somewhere important, and even something as simple as posture could convince people to move out of his way.

A buzz in his pocket—away from the smaller and more standard gun stashed at his side—alerted him to pull out his phone.  A text from Lambert—essentially mission control—stating simply, “You’re moved in.”

Erik returned a text with the street he was on.  Nothing more than a businessman going about his day, pocketing his phone. 

As what essentially amounted to a secret agent on very critical and dangerous work, Erik was always prepared for any situation to turn sour, and this meant having a hand free to fight if necessary; i.e., not bogged down by travel equipment.  Instead, his bags were transferred independently, by someone who likely couldn’t be tracked to Erik by all but the most knowledgeable. 

She, Rebecca, would have checked in, a local tourist, happy to see the world, obtained the key, laid Erik’s stuff in the room, and left. 

He brushed against her—two strangers on a narrow sidewalk—and the key was his.  He did not look at her, he did not speak to her.  A small, inconsequential action.  Big events were made from small inconsequential actions.  By nightfall, she would be out of the country. 

He flicked his fingers and slid the key into his pocket.   

His destination was the Old Parsonage Hotel, which was more luxurious than he cared for, but supposedly as close as they could get him to his main destination.  Rowan—his superior and main liaison for the CIA proper—had threatened to put him into a hotel that was refashioned from a prison.

Erik isn’t sure which he would have preferred.

Regardless, slipping in and walking to his room is hardly a problem, and though the receptionist glanced up at him, she didn’t comment.  It was a small hotel, to Erik’s chagrin, but the number one rule of espionage was still in play:

_Act like you belong, and no one will question it._

It was easy to assume he was a friend or relative, or any sort of businessman who was meeting with someone, or even a client who either never saw or had forgotten.  Regardless, a very important man on a very important job that shouldn’t be interrupted. 

Let her assume what she would.

The average human would not speak up in an uncomfortable situation, especially if said uncomfortable situation was quickly leaving and not directly affecting him or her. 

The hotel room was nice.  As Erik was told, it was a luxurious hotel, and the furnishings and décor reflected that.  Two beds, a balcony, a restroom, and the bags that Rebecca had dropped off. 

It was an older building, which would both simplify and complicate escape if necessary.   

He sat at the desk, and opened his files.  He didn’t bring much with him—he didn’t need people finding anything alarming—and the most important right now was the official schedule of the professor. 

Starting again in a week, he had two classes and office hours—presumably the rest of the time was spent either in research or personal activities, or, in other words, a lot of variability in what he may be doing at virtually any given time. 

Unfortunate. 

There was also the issue that, as it stood, Erik was the only one on the mission, and it was physically impossible for Erik to guard him 24/7, regardless of how little sleep Erik was accustomed to. 

Unless, of course, Erik got with him sexually.  That was a different type of mission.

Either the threat level was minor at the moment or they didn’t really care if the professor lost his life.

Regardless, it was his mission, and failure reflected badly on him. 

Erik couldn’t help feeling like it was odd, though.  He was an experienced and strong agent—if they didn’t care about the mission, it didn’t make sense to send him, but if they did care about the mission, it didn’t make sense to send just him. 

Erik was a paranoid man.

As a man who faced systematic extermination of his people by a government and is now working for a government, he thought his paranoia was perfectly reasonable. 

It would be a shame if their “dear agent” were to be killed in action. 

A few inches above his hand, a coin floated, twisting and spinning.  It was a habit he had developed in his youth and while it wasn’t the original coin, the tension and thought coiled through his body showed all the same. 

It was a dangerous habit, and he clenched his fist around the coin, halting the levitation.  

An overwhelming majority of people panicked when they saw something they didn’t comprehend.  Levitating objects were, generally, one of these things. 

Panic.  Fear.  Hatred.

These things all had a place.  They could be harnessed.  They could be used.

But he was on a stealth mission in a foreign country.  They needed to be kept to a minimum.

It really would be a perfect murder. 

Lure him to a foreign country, put him on a nonsensical mission, restrict his powers though social convention, and watch as their enemies put an end to him.

Hm.

Erik would just have to subvert any expectations they may have. 

Erik could attend the professor’s classes.  That would be the best way to get to know him and his quirks, with the number one rule in use again, as well as provide protection if necessary. 

From there, he could just follow him from a distance.  Learn where the research was, grab it, done.

He slid the schedule back into the empty folder. 

Empty. 

He was given surprisingly little information about the situation, which only served to make him more suspicious.  He usually at least got a file relating to his target.  Even if, in this case, his target wasn’t to be eliminated.

He would ask Rowan about it later.

He slammed the folder shut with a whoosh and shoved it back into the luggage bag. 

For now, explore the area more.

He would take to more casual clothes for that, he decided, and took off his suit, hanging it up for later usage.  His sidearm, a custom straight from R&D because they got pissed off from him constantly jumping into water, was switched from latched to his side to tucked inside his pants.  Less accessible in case of emergency, but it still needed to be concealed. 

Good enough. 

He started by staking out the Sherrington Building—where the professor’s classes were held.  The building was unimpressive, really, compared to some of the architectural pieces nearby, but the windows were large, which may be a hazard if the enemy themselves were fond of snipers. 

The university probably did not have bulletproof glass.

It was likely too late to enter the building without suspicion, so he simply circled it once, noting the entrances, general building scheme, and surrounding area.  He didn't want to hang out any longer in case some worried “Good Samaritan” called the police about a trespasser. 

He vanished into the city. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is part of Viper Verse. You don’t need to know or care what that is for the main plot, but if you want to, you can look at Along the Viper’s Tail for more information. 
> 
> Erik has no relationship with any of the Marvel characters that go by Viper, but is sometimes called as a shortening of Steel Viper. 
> 
> OCs appear as supporting characters. As always, if a character is too annoying, let me know and I’ll try to solve the problem. 
> 
> I researched Oxford somewhat, but this is mostly a fictional recount of it, as well.


End file.
